


Episode 8: Wishful Thinking

by inkandpaperqwerty



Series: Bright Smiles and Bloody Lips [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Castiel is Not Innocent, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Conflicted Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Episode: s04e08 Wishful Thinking, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone Needs Therapy, Family Feels, Gen, Heaven, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Manipulative Castiel, Nightmares, Parental Dean Winchester, Parental Sam Winchester, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Needs Therapy, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Single Parent Sam Winchester, They Never Make it To the Wishing Well, Uncle Dean Winchester, things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperqwerty/pseuds/inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: "Dean expected Sam to find a way to cope after he was dragged to Hell. By no means did he, even for a moment, think Sam might look to parenting as a coping mechanism."Castiel doesn't always like his orders, but he always follows them. Even if that means abducting Liam in the middle of the night and locking him away in the greenroom. Even if that means lying to Dean's face and pretending to aid in the search for the little boy he stole. Even if that means being confronted by emotions he's unfamiliar with and guilt he doesn't understand.Even if it all feels so terribly wrong, Castiel still follows orders.





	Episode 8: Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Language and Discussion of Past Sexual Abuse.

_Red. Black. Dripping. Burning. Screaming. Silent._

_Blades under his skin, carving away the flesh strip by strip until steel struck cartilage. More carving, this time with splintered fragments of bone sticking to the bloody knife. Sweltering, suffocating heat and boiling fluid in his eyes._

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

_Thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—_

_Valves and arteries giving way to the sharpened edge of a dagger, the core muscle still beating frantically even as it was shredded, trying to push blood through whatever was left of his veins. All it did was pour blood onto the rack, the hot rack, the spiked rack digging into his flesh and muscle and bone and help, please help, and stop, and Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy—_

_“Sammy!”_

Dean shot up in bed, gasping for air and pushing away hands that didn’t exist. He scratched at his neck and chest, but the only thing he found was a cotton t-shirt and sweat. No blood. No gashes. No burns.

Dean reached for the handprint on his shoulder, dragging down a few lungfuls of air and clinging to the mark that proved he was no longer in Hell.

He had been rescued.

He was out. It was over.

He was safe.

Dean ran a hand down his face and let out a heavy sigh, tossing the sheets aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He got up and made a beeline for the bathroom, but he realized halfway there that the light was already on.

 _Crap._ Dean turned to look at the bed next to his, bewildered eyes finding it empty. So, Liam and Sam were in the bathroom… together?

Dean took a moment to breathe, trying to decide if he would be of any use while his brain was still in the blender, and he quickly came to the decision that it didn’t really matter. So, he twisted his lips into a half-conscious frown and stumbled over to the door, knocking softly as screams echoing in his brain began to fade. “Hey,” he started, already turning the door handle. “Everything okay in here?”

Dean was greeted by the sight of Liam kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks, and a distinct lack of Sam.

Dean dedicated a fraction of a second to suspicion, anger, and worry about Sam, but then his mind belonged solely to Liam.

“Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?” Dean let himself in and crouched down a couple feet away, rubbing his nightmares from his eyes. “Did you get sick?”

Liam shook his head, hiccupping through the lingering tears. “But my tummy hurts.”

Dean nodded and slipped from the crouch to a sit, figuring he might as well get comfortable. “Do you know why? Was it something you ate, maybe?”

Liam stared at Dean with watery eyes, lib wobbling in the silence, and then he started crying again. He held his knees to his chest and buried his head behind them, sobbing quietly.

Dean swallowed and glanced over his shoulder, hoping Sam had perhaps magically sensed the need to return to the motel _immediately._

No such luck, and Dean found himself whispering a quiet, “I didn’t mean to upset you, Lee,” as he tried to figure out what to do next. “Just… tell me what’s wrong, okay? I just need to know what’s wrong.”

Liam lifted his head and laid it sideways on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m—I’m an awful person.” He sobbed. “I’m an awful, bad person, Dean.”

Dean had to take a moment to process the sentence, and not just because it was the middle of the night. “What?” He shook his head, scooting a little closer. “Liam, that’s not true. Not at all. Who told you that?”

Liam screwed his eyes shut and curled up a little tighter, choking out a few more cries. He shook his head and rocked slightly, mumbling incoherent words that eventually fell into a sentence. “M’really bad, Dean. I did—I did a really bad thing.”

Dean shook his head, tempted to pull Liam into a hug but not knowing if it was safe or wise to do so. “Buddy, whatever it was… it’s okay. You’re not bad. I’ve done some bad things, too, okay? Sam… and Bobby… I mean, everybody has. Everybody makes mistakes. It doesn’t mean—” he sighed, shaking his head again. “You’re not bad, Liam. You’re not.”

Liam hiccupped again and leaned against the toilet, slow and shuddering breaths breaking up the faint sobs still trying to work their way out his throat. “I… I lied. I lied to the police, and I lied to my therapist, and I lied to my mom, and I—” He hid his face in his knees again.

Dean was increasingly confused and nervous, but he tried to keep his outward expression calm. He remembered Sam telling him that children often mistook anger at their abusers for anger at them, and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

“Liam, what did you lie about?” Dean wet his lips and cleared his throat, flashing a brief but warm smile. “You can tell me, kiddo. You can always tell me. We’re family, right?”

Liam let out a couple cries and then rested his head on his knees again, eyes swollen and red. “I told everyone that… that Daddy forced me… but—” he sobbed, shaking his head, “—but he didn’t.” His sobs returned full-force, and he kept shaking his head, as if he could physically rattle the memories out of his brain. “He didn’t, Dean. Not—not in the beginning.”

Dean was struck speechless, and maybe that was for the best, because the last thing Liam needed was an explosive outburst interrupting him, but he truly was speechless. Completely, utterly lost for words. Confused. Disturbed.

“Daddy asked me if—if I had ever t-touched myself there, and I said no, and—and he showed me how. That was all, he just—he just showed me how, but it felt really good, so—” he rubbed his eyes, “—so I went to him to ask for help again and again and—and again, and I didn’t even say no until we started using the toys.” Liam hiccupped and the words came faster, tumbling past his lips in a long, nearly hysterical stream or syllables. “I didn’t say no all that time, and then—then I got him in trouble, but it was my fault! It was my fault, and I lied and said it was his, and he’s in _jail_ because of _me_ , and I’m—I’m a bad person, Dean I’m a really bad person!”

Dean’s arms were moving before he even knew they wanted to, wrapping around Liam’s body and pulling him close. “Shh.” He leaned against the sink and held on like Liam would float away if Dean gave any slack at all. “Shh, it’s okay. Shh…” He cradled Liam’s head in his hand. “Liam, I need you—I need you to listen to me. Okay, little man? I need you to listen.”

Liam nodded miserably, crying into Dean’s chest and gripping the sweat-soaked shirt for dear life.

“Liam, you know, uh—” Dean laughed weakly, cursing his brain for its lack of originality. “You know I love pie. I love pie, man, love it. I get it whenever I can. Pie, uh, pie makes me feel good. Makes my brain feel good.” He put his chin on Liam’s head and tried not to let out the tears threatening to run down his face. “I get pie from a lot of places, and every time I do, I trust that whoever made it didn’t put anything bad in it. Because that’s just not how it’s supposed to be.” He cleared his throat, wishing he could offer more than a hug and a pep talk, wishing he could _do_ something. “If, uh, if someone poisons a pie, and I eat it because I like pie, is it my fault I was poisoned?”

Liam rubbed his face against Dean’s throat, staying tucked under Dean’s chin. “No,” Liam mumbled, his voice congested.

“What about, uh—what if someone steals a pie, and they offer me some, and I don’t know it’s stolen, so I take what they offer and eat it. Would that be wrong of me? I mean, am I stealing that pie?”

Liam shook his head. “No…”

“That’s because when I ask for pie, or when someone offers me pie, I trust they aren’t trying to hurt me or make me do something wrong. That’s how it’s supposed to be, Liam. There are certain people and certain times you’re supposed to just… be able to trust that it’s all okay.” Dean cleared his throat and blinked away his tears with a sniff. “Liam… when you asked your dad to… to help you out… you were just trying to get something that made you feel good. You didn’t know it was going to hurt you.” Dean squeezed Liam tight. “And when your dad offered to help you, you didn’t know you that what he wanted you to do was wrong. You thought it was just a nice gift.” Dean exhaled slowly, shakily. “He’s your dad. You’re supposed to be able to trust you dad not to hurt you and not to steer you wrong.”

Liam sniffed and pulled away a little, staring up at Dean with wide, vulnerable, scared, guilty eyes. Fresh tears ran down his cheeks, lips wet and wobbly, face flushed and nose running.

Dean cupped Liam’s face in his hand and shook his head, looking him right in the eyes as he said, “Liam, what happened to you was _not_ your fault. You were a kid. You _are_ a kid. You’re not supposed to have all the answers, and you’re supposed to be able to rely on family to keep you safe.”

Liam ducked his head and pressed against Dean’s chest again. “But I…” He shook his head and curled up in Dean’s arms, crying again. “But I still—I m-miss it sometimes, and I want to… but I know I’m not supposed to, and that’s not—not my dad’s fault, Dean. I’m—I’m _broken,_ and I—” He rubbed his eyes, crying harder, tensing up like he was waiting for Dean to push him away or hit him. “I shouldn’t _want_ to touch myself, but I do, and I don’t—I don’t _understand_. Why am I _like_ this? What’s wrong with me?” He lost the end of his question to a handful of harsh sobs that quietly dissolved into incoherent crying.

Dean wet his lips and gave Liam a little squeeze, far out of his comfort zone but refusing to back off. Pieces were falling into place, and if Dean was honest, he was a little creeped out. He didn’t want to have any kind of _talk_ with Liam, especially one that didn’t go, ‘Kiddo, you’re fourteen now, so chase tail to your heart’s content and always use a condom. Well, we’re done here.’

But that was what Liam needed, so he would deal.

“Liam…” Dean cleared his throat and started again. “Liam, is that why were you in here?” He shifted slightly and made sure not to let go of the shaking boy in his arms. “You said you didn’t get sick. Did you come in here to… you know…” Oh, how he wanted to go back and tell the him of two months ago that the sexual abuse conversation was nowhere near as awkward as his talks with Liam were going to get. “Did you come in here to… uh, masturbate?”

Liam started crying harder and held on tight. “I’m sorry, Dean! I’m sorry!”

Dean didn’t sigh in case Liam mistook it for disappointment, but he once again got mad at Sam for not being there when they needed him. But, also once again, Dean set that aside and focused on Liam, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Shh, Liam, it’s okay. I’m not upset. Okay? I mean, hey… uh… at your age…” Dean shook his head, clearing his throat a few times. “You’re, uh, you’re coming up on your teen years… and you’re gonna want to, you know, explore your, uh, your body. That’s normal. Um… I mean, you hit puberty, and it’s up, it’s down, it’s back up again for no reason—” Dean cut himself off and cleared his throat yet again. “And, um, you’re… you’re gonna want to touch yourself, and it’s, uh—you know, it’s gonna feel good. And that’s okay. It’s okay that it feels good. And, um, I mean, I don’t really know how it works when you… start too early…” for lack of a better term, “…but we’re gonna find out. Okay? You and me and Sam, we’re gonna research. We’ll learn what’s safe, and what’s healthy, and we’ll get some answers.” Dean rocked Liam slightly, running a hand through his hair again. “It’s okay to be confused. And hey, look at me.”

Liam shook his head as Dean leaned back, and he whined softly when Dean tried to coax his chin up.

“Come on, buddy. Come on, look at me. Okay?”

Liam shook his head again, refusing to lift his eyes from his lap.

“Okay.” Dean stroked his hair again and pulled him in tight. “That’s okay. But I need you to listen. Can you do that?”

Liam nodded his head, still crying quietly.

“You are _not_ broken. Alright?”

Liam curled up a little tighter, a soft whimper breaking up his cries.

“You’re not broken, Liam. You’re a little banged up, a little bruised. So am I. So’s Sam. So’s everybody. But you aren’t broken. You’re just hurt, and there’s nothing wrong with being hurt.”

Liam slumped against Dean’s chest, tugging on Dean’s shirt and pressing his forehead against Dean’s collarbone. He hiccupped quietly, pulling his knees up toward both their chests, and his cries slowly started to soften and taper off.

Dean shushed Liam and held on tight, rubbing his back and combing fingers through his hair. Dean tilted his head back and rested it against the peeling wallpaper, closing his eyes as a wave of helpless frustration washed over him.

_I’m not cut out for this._

“Hey, Lee, how about we go back to bed?” Dean glanced out at the darkened motel room, wondering if he was even ready to try sleeping again. “I can tell you a story, and maybe the both of us can get some sleep.”

Liam gave a weak nod and sniffled again, but he made no move to get up.

That was okay. Dean just snaked one arm under Liam’s legs and shifted his weight with a grunt, struggling to his feet. He pushed against the wall to get himself upright without letting go of Liam, and then he shouldered the bathroom light switch. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust and then carried both of them back to his bed.

“Where’s Sorzie?” Liam mumbled, rubbing at his eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Dean sighed, sitting down on the mattress and propping himself up against the headboard. He resituated Liam on his lap and felt around for the bedside lamp, figuring they could both do with a little more light. “But he’ll call us if he needs anything.”

Liam didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he moved around a bit and tried to get comfortable, sliding down until he could rest his head on Dean’s stomach with both arms wound tight around Dean’s hips.

“Okay, let’s…” Dean trailed off before he could finish, interrupted by the sound of a key twisting in the lock. He held Liam a little tighter out of instinct, but his fears were eased a second later when a tall, floppy-haired figure entered the room. “See?” Dean flashed a quick smile, pushing aside his own reservations about Sam’s unexplained disappearance. “I told you he was fine.”

Sam stepped into the light of the lamp with a mildly surprised expression on his face, which Dean quickly realized was tearstained and splotchy.

Apparently, Dean and Liam weren’t the only ones having a rough night.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled and ran a hand over his face, his voice congested. “Didn’t mean to worry you. I just… needed some air.”

Dean gave him a nod, forgiveness and understanding and sympathy all wrapped up in that single gesture, and then he nodded to the little person wrapped around his waist and legs. “I was just about to tell a story, if you want to listen in.”

“I’d like that.” Sam gave a weak smile and shuffled over to his bed, kicking off his shoes and preparing to sit.

“Sammy.” Dean patted the bed next to him. “Come sit with us. There’s enough room.” It would be a little cramped, sure, but Liam probably wanted to snuggle, anyway. And Sam looked like he could use a hug or two himself. “We’ll make a Liam sandwich.”

Sam gave another weak smile, looking more tired and beaten-down than Dean had ever seen before, and he obediently went around to the available half of Dean’s bed. “Sounds good to me.”

Liam reached out as soon as Sam was on the mattress, his little hand curled around the thin flannel Sam had worn in lieu of a jacket. “Bad dreams?”

Sam reached out and booped Liam on the nose, mustering up more of a smile than he had the first two times. “Nothing a Liam sandwich can’t fix.”

Liam couldn’t quite manage a smile, but he rolled over into the little space between Sam and Dean and let them hold onto him.

Dean reached across Liam and grabbed Sam’s shirt, giving it a little tug to get Sam to look at him.

Sam held eye contact for no more than three seconds, and then his face crumbled. He buried it in the pillow by his head and reached across Liam to grab Dean’s still damp shirt.

Dean let out a soft sigh and settled down into the sheets with them. _My sweat hasn’t even dried completely, and I’m diving back in to welcome another nightmare._ But what else could he do?

“Once upon a time,” Dean started, eyes already closed and voice somewhat slurred by fatigue, “in a faraway land, there were three brothers…”

* * *

Castiel stared down at the sleeping form, a slight twist in his stomach. He didn’t dislike Liam—not really, save for that insufferable attitude problem of his—but Castiel’s orders had been clear. If Heaven wanted Sam to get back on demon blood, Heaven had to give Sam a goal he considered worth the cost.

_“You aren’t hesitating, are you, Castiel?”_

Castiel ignored Uriel’s voice calling out to him.

_“Come now, Castiel. You’ve put it off for three days now to wait until they stopped sleeping in the same bed. You can only procrastinate for so long before someone other than me will call you out.”_

Castiel ignored him again. Uriel was Castiel’s subordinate, not the other way around, and he didn’t owe the Angel of Death any explanations.

Liam rolled over in his sleep with a loud inhale followed by a contented little sigh.

 _This is right. This is just. I don’t have a choice._ Briefly, Castiel considered retrieving his blade before he left, but that would make angelic involvement entirely too obvious, and they needed Dean to trust them more, not less. _He’ll be safer in Heaven, anyway. I’ll be there to keep an eye on him. It isn’t as if I’m killing him or abandoning him in the middle of nowhere._ Castiel put two fingers to Liam’s head, and in an instant, the room went from four occupants to two. _I don’t have a choice._

* * *

_“Sorzie? Dean? …Sorzie! Dean! …Sam!”_

Castiel was summoned to the greenroom, more or less, by the screaming of an unhappy child.

 _So, it begins._ Castiel appeared inside the spacious, well-furnished bedroom to find a disoriented Liam sitting amongst the sheets, hair tousled and eyes frantic.

“Liam, it’s alright.”

Liam snapped his head around to look at Castiel, zeroing in as every muscle in his body went tight. “I’m sorry for taking your stick.”

Castiel got the idea Liam was less apologetic and more terrified, but it was irrelevant either way. “It’s an angel blade, and you’re forgiven. We just need you to stay here for a while.”

Liam swallowed hard and fidgeted in bed, eyes scanning the room. He was almost certainly looking for a door or window, but Castiel had removed them before he even went to get Liam. Nothing was going to get in or out of that room without the permission of Heaven.

“We?” Then, without giving Castiel time to answer, Liam continued. “How long?”

“It’s… hard to say.” Castiel avoided the question of who was involved, referring to keep as much of the situation veiled as possible. “You’re safe here. If you need anything, all you have to do is call for someone.”

“I _need_ to go home,” was Liam’s immediate reply, fingers curling through the bedsheets. “Sorzie and Dean are gonna be worried when they can’t find me.”

 _Oh, believe me, I know._ Castiel simply shook his head. “We need you to stay here.”

Liam started to squirm some more, crawling out from under the sheets on the side of the bed furthest from Castiel. “I don’t wanna stay here. I want Sorzie.”

Castiel still didn’t understand the nickname. “You can have him later.” He indicated the doorless walls with a sweeping gesture. “You can’t leave. We will let—”

“I wanna go _home!”_ Liam clenched his fists at his sides, anger contorting his tiny features. “Send me home, Castiel, _right now!”_

Castiel let out a sigh and flew to Heaven, leaving the room behind. He figured, if given enough time, Liam would scream himself to muteness or exhaustion. Castiel was not-so-secretly hoping for the former; he wasn’t fond of the high-pitched noises young humans made when afraid or angry.

Castiel hadn’t been away from the greenroom two minutes when another call split the air.

_“Cas! Cas, we need you! We can’t find Liam anywhere!”_

Castiel heaved a sigh and left the hallway behind, already dreading the next several days of frantic pseudo-searching. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for Sam to decide demon blood was worth a shot if it meant he could find Liam. Once that happened, Sam would argue with Dean and things would escalate as scheduled. As soon as Lucifer was out of the Cage, Liam could be returned home… just in time for the Apocalypse, but all things considered, that wasn’t such a bad outcome. Immediately after the Apocalypse would come Paradise, and the Righteous Man and his little tagalong would definitely qualify.

_“Let me out! Let me out, let me out, let me out! Sam! Sam, can you hear me? Saaam!”_

Castiel sighed and shot back down to Earth, blue eyes scanning the inside of the motel room he had invaded less than twelve hours prior. Dean was pacing frantically while Sam looked through Liam’s cell phone, repeatedly running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t understand,” Sam was saying. “He wouldn’t just leave, not without his phone, not in the middle of the night. No one called him, he didn’t call anyone, he didn’t leave a—”

“Cas!” Dean interrupted Sam the second he realized Castiel had answered his prayer. “You have to find Liam.” His hands were gesturing wildly, and worry drew sharp lines in his features “Use your angel mojo or something!”

Castiel blinked at the sudden request, feigning surprise. “Uh…” He blinked again, appearing to collect himself. “Of course. It shouldn’t be difficult.” He closed his eyes for a moment, made a face, and then opened them again. “Odd…”

“What? What’s odd?” Sam rushed, his eyes shining with a kind of panic Castiel hadn’t seen on a human face in a very long time.

“I…” Castiel shook his head slowly, brow pinched in confusion, “…can’t sense him.”

“Can’t sense him?” Dean echoed. “What do you mean you can’t—?”

“Castiel, are you saying he’s hidden?” Sam interrupted, one hand running through his hair again. “Like—like the witches in Clayton?”

Dean swore loudly, rubbing his face with his hands. “So, he was taken.”

“O—Okay,” Sam started looking through the phone again, something that seemed more like a nervous habit than a task that needed completing. “So, who—who could have taken him?”

Castiel jumped in when there was no immediate reply from Dean. “You definitely killed both witches _and_ Samhain?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, rubbing his forehead while Dean continued to pace just a few feet away. “Yes, they are very, very dead.”

Castiel frowned slightly, thoughtful. “It could be another witch, but it’s unlikely. Most witches aren’t that powerful.” He pressed his lips together. “Demons, on the other hand…” He let that hang.

Sam immediately pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Ruby.”

“Ruby?” Dean didn’t quite yell, but he was close. “Really? That’s your play?”

Sam spread his arms, finger hovering over the call button. “She might know if demons have been in the area, might know what they’ve been up to—maybe she’s seen or, or heard something, or—”

“Yeah, or she could have been the one who _took_ him!” Dean shot back, arm spread in an equally frustrated, incredulous gesture.

Human arms were so useful in the ways of communication.

“Ruby doesn’t have a _reason_ to take Liam,” was Sam’s counter.

Dean snorted. “Since when do demons need reasons for the crap they do?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel suggested rather loudly, glancing between the two. “You could make the call collaboratively. Dean, you can still help Sam use his relationship with Ruby to your advantage. You don’t have to have equal amounts of trust in her to use her as a resource.” He looked between them again. “I’ll return to Heaven and see if anyone knows anything about Hell’s plans regarding the two of you.”

“Hey, Cas—”

Castiel just barely stopped himself in time, turning questioning eyes to Dean and waiting to see what would be asked of him.

“Thanks.” Dean swallowed and flashed a weak smile. “I know it’s not really your job…”

Sam nodded vigorously. “Yes, thank you. Really. I—I know we didn’t really agree on the Samhain thing, and I know Liam isn’t all that fond of you, but—but thank you.”

Castiel looked at them both for a moment, an uncomfortable twist tearing through his gut. He saw genuine trust and gratitude in their eyes, drowned out by a tsunami of nauseating terror, and it burned him.

“You’re welcome. I’ll find you when I know more.”

Not waiting for any kind of reaction on their part, Castiel left them with a half-baked plan that would force them to interact with each other regarding a topic of conflict. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do until he better understood how successful Liam’s abduction was going to be.

 _I don’t think I like this…_ But Castiel kept that thought to himself. Heaven wouldn’t be happy to hear him so doubtful. _I don’t think I like this at all._

* * *

When Castiel returned to the greenroom after several hours of pretending to search and assist, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. He knew what he found wasn’t it, though.

How in Heaven a child of such small stature managed to destroy an entire room designed to self-repair was beyond Castiel’s comprehension. Everything was in disarray—papers were scattered, bedsheets were torn from the mattress, every table and stand was overturned—from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Even things that had repaired themselves left evidence of the damage done; for example, the pillows were all intact, but there were feathers and stuffing scattered all across the floor to ensure everyone knew they had been ripped apart at least once.

Liam himself was sitting on the floor beside one of the bookshelves, surrounded by tomes and tearing the pages out one at a time, his movements slow and distracted. If his face was any indication, he had spent quite some time crying—and, knowing small humans, screaming—but other than the occasional sniff or whimper, he was silent in his assault of literature. He looked exhausted.

“Is that making you feel better?” Castiel intoned, arching a brow.

Liam responded by shutting what was left of the book and chucking it at Castiel’s head.

Castiel watched it strike him in the chest and drop to the floor, but he chose not to make a comment about the poor aim. “Is that a no?”

Liam grabbed another book and threw it, successfully hitting Castiel in the face. It didn’t do anything, of course—Castiel could barely feel it—but Liam didn’t seem to get that. He grabbed another book, and then another, and then another…

“Leave! Me! Alone!” Liam barely got the words out, weak sobs rising in his throat as his overused vocal chords struggled to keep up with his need to be heard.

Castiel heaved a sigh and closed the gap between them, reaching down to grab Liam even as the boy chucked another book at his head. “Li—”

“Get away from me!” Liam pushed himself back against the bookshelf, kicking at Castiel’s hands and haphazardly throwing another volume.

Even with the close proximity, it missed by a foot.

“Get _away…_ leave me _alone…”_ Liam kicked harder, an angry cry wrenching its way out of his throat. “I hate you… I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Castiel crouched down and grabbed Liam’s right arm with his right hand, pulling on the limb to both turn Liam around and draw him closer.

“Don’t touch me!”

Castiel grabbed the wrist of Liam’s flailing arm and then wrapped his own arm around Liam’s waist, tugging the smaller limb along with a sigh.

Liam shrieked. He screamed, he threw his head around, he thrashed and twisted every which way, he kicked against the floors and walls and bookshelves; he fought Castiel with everything he had in his little twelve-year-old body, which was an amount much larger than Castiel expected, as if he hadn’t been collapsed on the floor in utter exhaustion less than five minutes earlier.

None of it accomplished anything, of course.

Castiel didn’t know what to do other than kneel there and wait it out. Liam would get tired in a matter of minutes, after all, and every attempt at interaction seemed to only make things worse.

“Let me go! Let me go, let me go, let—me—go!” Liam sobbed in between the words, still writhing in Castiel’s arms, kicking wildly. “Let me _go,_ you son of a _bitch!”_ He dug his teeth into Castiel’s hand, but it was no more effective than any previous attack. “Let me go! I wanna go home! I wanna—go—” His words dissolved into sobs again, feet still kicking and body still twisting, but not nearly as hard as before. “W—wanna go—hic— _home._ I wan—hic—want my mom. I—” Liam gave another kick, very nearly limp in Castiel’s arms. “I hate you… I want—want my mom. I…” He gave a final kick and slumped, quiet sobs still racking his little body. “I wanna go home… I want Sorzie… I want…”

Castiel waited a few seconds, but when it became apparent Liam was out of things to say, he uttered a dry, “Are you finished?”

“Screw you,” Liam mumbled. “I hate you. Screw you!”

“You know, the last time I walked among humans, children who didn’t respect authority wound up with a very sore backside… and children with a tongue like yours wound up with a mouthful of soap.” Castiel glanced over his shoulder and tried to determine how best to get Liam to bed without another fit. “My understanding is that those practices are still rather customary.”

Liam threw his head back to smack it against Castiel’s chest. “Do it,” he snapped, his voice thick with tears and hoarse from improper use.

Castiel fought the urge to sigh. “You don’t mean that. You’re just being temperamental.”

“I _do_ mean it,” Liam insisted, weakly striking Castiel again. “I hate you.”

“You’ve established that.” Castiel let his gaze wander over the small body for a moment, scanning for signs of self-inflicted injury. “But that doesn’t make enticing punishment any less stupid.”

Liam kicked the bookshelf, life flickering through his veins for a fraction of a second before he drooped again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Castiel summoned his patience—somehow—and pressed on. “Liam, honestly, tell me what you think you’re accomplishing by behaving this way.”

Liam let out a whine, kicking his legs again as the noise continued. “I’m not trying to _do anything,_ I’m just _mad,_ and I _hate you._ ”

Castiel looked over his shoulder again and ultimately decided he would just have to pick a time and drag Liam over. “You’re only making things more difficult for yourself in the long run.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, if you would listen, you would know I just explained why you _should_ care _._ ” Castiel got his feet beneath him and straightened up, pleased to see minimal resistance on Liam’s part. “If you obey, you won’t have to deal with negative consequences.” Then, in a quiet grumble, he continued. “Such as having your disrespectful backside tanned clear off you.” Which Castiel was growing steadily more and more tempted to do.

“Doesn’t matter.” Liam balked when Castiel moved him toward the bed, bracing his knees for all of two seconds before tumbling onto the mattress as directed. “Even if I did everything right, I’d still get hit.”

Castiel let out a sigh, irritated, and a human urge from deep inside pushed him to cross his arms over his chest. “What would give you an idea like that?”

Liam lay sprawled out on the bed, facedown, a heavy sigh lifting and dropping his torso. “You’re an especially stupid bastard, aren’t’cha?”

Castiel placed one hand on Liam’s back and lifted the other, bringing it halfway down before stopping with sudden realization. “You’re baiting me.”

Liam snorted and turned his head the other way. “You’re a genius, Nastiel.”

Castiel squinted, confusion seeping into his voice as his hand slid from Liam’s back. “Why are you baiting me?”

Liam dropped his voice and held his nose. “Well, if you would listen, you would know I just explained that _I hate you._ ” Liam sneered. “I’ll do anything to make you mad.”

Castiel only shook his head, feeling a surprising lack of anger as his confusion about the behavior increased. “No, that isn’t it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling one leg onto the mattress with him so he could get a little closer. “You’ve never used so much foul language, even when being disrespectful, and you’ve never been so violent and destructive.”

Liam turned himself onto his side, fully facing away from Castiel, and then drew his knees up toward his chest.

“Are you trying to punish me by acting out?” Castiel tilted his head slightly, trying to look at Liam’s partially hidden face. “It isn’t going to work. I’ll be irritated, at worst, and you’re only going to end up more miserable than you were in the first place.”

Liam sniffled but didn’t respond, curling up a little tighter and drawing his arms in close to himself. He stared at the wall in front of him, and while he didn’t seem to be lost in thought or actively distracting himself, he didn’t seem to be paying attention, either. He seemed… distant.

Castiel studied Liam for a moment more, and then his head started to tilt again. “You’re trying to find out how much you can say or do before I punish you. Is that it? You’re testing me?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders. “I guess.” He sniffed. “That’s what my therapist always said. I think I just don’t like you.”

Castiel didn’t know exactly what that meant, but it seemed he was on the right track; if he could figure out the way Liam’s odd little brain worked, there was a chance he could get the boy to behave.

“Liam…” Castiel took a deep breath and gathered his patience for the hundredth time. “I understand you’re upset and don’t want to be here, but you—”

“Do you?” Liam whispered the words, his tone lacking its usual flippancy but still fully accusatory. “Do you know what it’s like to miss your mom?”

Castiel blinked, somewhat startled by the question. “I—”

“Have you ever been a kid?” Liam rolled over then, blue eyes blazing with an anger backed by nothing but hurt. “Has anybody ever popped into Heaven, grabbed you by your—your stupid jacket, and thrown you to Earth with no way to get home? No way to talk to your family? No real reason why you were taken away in the first place? Or at least, not one that made sense to you. And there was nothing you could do about it?” He clenched his fists in the sheets, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as a weak echo of his earlier sobs rose in his throat. “Are you afraid of these—these stupid—stupid, _doorless_ rooms because every time—”

Castiel materialized a box of tissues and held them out, but Liam ignored them.

“Because every time you’re in a room where you can’t lock the door, something bad happens to you? And you can’t—you can’t keep anybody out of a room like this?” He wiped his face on his arm and shook his head, looking at Castiel with some sickening combination of fear and hatred and utter _misery_. “You don’t know anything.” Liam shook his head again and returned to his curled-up ball, facing away from Castiel. “Just leave me alone. I just wanna be alone.”

Castiel didn’t really know what to say to that—he didn’t know how to respond at all, erally, and he didn’t like the unsettled feeling he was getting in his gut—so he flew away without another word.

Castiel staggered slightly as he landed in the warehouse outside the greenroom, leaning against the outer wall and staring at the ground in front of him. He stared at the nondescript concrete, struggling to process the sudden turn his conversation had taken and the information he had gained as a result.

What was he supposed to file it under? Human Emotion and Its Dramatic Consequences? Things Best Left Unquestioned? Reasons Why Paradise is Long Overdue?

Castiel was used to putting information into little boxes, keeping each section carefully organized and separate from the ones around it. But he didn’t know where to put the rage and pain of a little boy so terribly abused, and yet so resilient, and yet so broken, and yet so brazen, and yet so afraid, and yet so… so…

He just didn’t know where to put it.

Liam was definitely right about one thing, though: Castiel had never been helpless. If he had been, it was in the context of battle, meaning it was a short-term situation that was quickly remedied by the aid of his siblings or renewed Grace. He had never wallowed in helplessness, never gone from one hour to the next, still wishing things were different, still staring at the world in frustration at his inability to change anything, still _stuck_ and knowing he would stay that way until someone else changed their mind.

No one made Castiel feel unsafe in his own territory.

No one made Castiel to stay where he didn’t want to stay.

No one grabbed Castiel by the wing and forced him into anything.

And if they did, they didn’t live for very long.

 _“Castiel, we have a problem.”_ It was Uriel. _“Meet me on Earth.”_

Castiel took a deep breath and calmed both himself and his vessel, vaguely aware of a faint, dull pain throbbing behind his eye. _“Of course. What is it?”_

_“It’s Ruby. She’s found something, though we’re not sure what, and she’s taking it to the Winchesters. Or she’s planning to, at the very least.”_

Castiel rubbed his forehead with a sigh. _“Ruby is supposed to be working with us.”_

 _“Now, what gave you that idea?”_ Uriel’s laughter rang along the wavelength. _“Demons work for themselves. We just happen to be working toward the same goal this time.”_

Castiel felt another twist in his gut, and something burned deep in his core. _Jimmy… now is not the time to be problematic._ He wondered if perhaps the fatherly instinct in Jimmy didn’t like the way Castiel had left Liam.

_“I should also mention… there have been rumors that Alistair has come topside.”_

_“Oh. Him.”_ Castiel rubbed his face again. _“I’ll be right there. Uriel, the Winchesters cannot find out that we have Liam, or Dean will never cooperate.”_

_“Understood. I’ll find out what the demon girl is looking into and report back.”_

_“Send Inias to investigate Alistair, and I’ll see what the Winchesters are up to. Fly safe.”_

_“Same to you, brother.”_

Castiel took flight.


End file.
